The Mystery of the Third Lucretia (22 page)

“Did he seem like the kind of person who could be a murderer?” I asked.

“I thought about that when I was sitting there,” Mom said, “and I guess I have to say I can believe he'd do it. There's something very hard and cold about him, although on the surface he was all charm and polish. He asked about my trip, was I here simply on business or was there an element of pleasure as well, was my hotel comfortable, all that sort of schmoozy thing.”

“What did you tell him?” Lucas asked.

“I think I said I had my daughter along, although it was largely a working trip for me. I didn't think it was necessary to mention you, Lucas.”

“Anything else?”

“I'll take my notes with me to dinner and go over them to see if I've forgotten anything fun.”

The three of us chitchatted for a while longer. Mom said a few things to let us know she hadn't forgotten we were still in trouble. When she got off the bed to start getting ready for dinner she said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She rooted around in her briefcase for a minute, then threw a new Time magazine on the bed. “Their story about the Third Lucretia is really good. Too bad the painting's a forgery and they'll have to take it all back.”

I grabbed it right away and found the page, which of course had a big picture of the painting at the top. The headline said, THE DUTCH DISCOVER AN INTIMATE MASTERPIECE. The writing in the article was hard to understand—like, the caption under the picture said, “In Lucretia, serene heroism coexists with poignant vulnerability.” But I could see why Mom liked the story. It said that Lucretia's situation stood for what women had gone through for centuries. It went on about the symbolism, and about how the painting was found and examined and sold to the Rijksmuseum. It called Jacob “the world's foremost authority on the works of Rembrandt van Rijn.”

While I was reading, Mom and Lucas were getting ready for dinner. “Tony said they have a big anniversary party coming into the restaurant at seven, and we should get down there early if we want to get served,” Mom said. “You'd better hurry, honey.”

But I'd just gotten to the part where it said that the work “was painted from the depths of Rembrandt's personal grief,” and I wanted to find out about why Rembrandt had been so sad, so I just kept reading.

Finally Mom said, “Kari, aren't you going to join us?”

I looked up, and she and Lucas were standing at the door.

“It's after six thirty, and Lucas and I are ready.”

“You guys go ahead and get a table. Order some croquettes for me. I'm at an interesting part. It's talking about how Rembrandt painted the
Lucretias
at the end of his life when he'd run out of money and after his housekeeper who was also his girlfriend died. As soon as I finish, I'll put my shoes on and be right down.”

“Find your shoes, you mean,” Mom said, looking at my clothes, which were scattered all around my suitcase. “You've got a mess here. When we get back tonight, I want you two to straighten up all your things.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said under my breath as Mom and Lucas left the room.

I finished the article, and it did take me a few minutes to find my shoes. As I was putting them on it occurred to me that, with Mom in such a good mood, tonight might be the night to apologize for going over to the Quarter. I was thinking about this as I ran downstairs and through the hotel lobby into the restaurant.

But Mom and Lucas weren't in the restaurant.

“Have you seen a tall, dark-haired woman and a blond girl about my age?” I asked the waiter.

“Yes, I gave them menus at the table there in the corner,” he said, pointing, “then they stepped outside to speak to someone.”

“Speak to someone?” I couldn't quite understand.

“Yes, miss, just a moment ago. A gentleman was at the street entrance to the restaurant. He asked me to tell your mother and the young lady that he wished to speak with them. I believe he was a Dutchman. A good-looking man, wearing a raincoat,” and he gestured around his waist to indicate a belt. “Your mother asked me to watch her things, so they must be coming right back.”

I looked at the table where Mom and Lucas had been sitting. Sure enough, there was Mom's notebook, and her small black leather bag hung over the back of one of the chairs.

I went to the entrance, but the street was completely empty. I couldn't think who would have wanted to speak to Mom and Lucas, or why they weren't still outside.

Then it clicked. Good-looking. Dutch. Belted raincoat. And the purse on the back of the chair.

Mom had left her bag and interview notes because she thought she'd be right back. But she wasn't coming right back. She and Lucas had been kidnapped.

Kidnapped by Jacob Hannekroot, the murderer.

It's funny how a person's mind can work in a crisis. Suddenly, without even thinking about it, I knew exactly what I needed to do. What's even more weird is that I was perfectly calm about it.

I went over to the table, grabbed Mom's notebook and purse, and moved quickly and smoothly out of the restaurant, like a shark gliding through the water at top speed. “Where's Tony?” I called to Miesje across the lobby as I opened the door to the hotel.

“Upstairs. Room fifteen. Toilet is—” She broke off, not knowing the right word.

This was a problem, but right away my mind found a way around it. If Tony was fixing the plumbing on the fourth floor, I'd have to find another way to get where I was going. Quickly, calmly, I unzipped Mom's purse and opened her billfold. I could see plenty of European money. I stuffed the money in my pocket, put the purse on the desk, opened the notebook, and, fast as I could, wrote 17
Achterburgwalsteeg
.

“Tell Tony to send the police to that address! Mom and Lucas have been kidnapped!”

“I do not understand,” Miesje said, her kind eyes big and apologetic.

By this time I was across the lobby. “Just send the police!” I yelled over my shoulder. Then I pushed through the doors and ran the five blocks to the taxi stand.

I jumped into the first taxi in line. “Corner of Oudezijds Achterburgwal and Achterburgwalsteeg, fast as you can go,” I said, trying to use Mom's pronunciation. “I'll give you an extra fifty euros if you can do it in less than ten minutes.” It was something I'd seen on TV, but I wasn't sure it would work in real life.

It didn't. The guy just sat there, looking back at me over his shoulder. For a second I thought I hadn't pronounced the words right and he didn't understand. Then he said, “You shouldn't go to a place like that.”

I reached in my pocket and held up the fifty-euro bill, worth more than fifty bucks in American money. “My mom's been kidnapped and that's where she is. Now drive.”

He drove. Whether it was because he believed what I said or because he wanted to earn the money, I'll never know for sure. We pulled out and around the corner, tires squealing.

For the first five minutes of the trip there wasn't much traffic, and the lights stayed green. Then we hit a red light. It seemed to last forever. I started out drumming my fingers on the armrest, and ended up pounding it with my fist before the light changed. When I saw a second light turn red two blocks ahead I wailed, “Oh, no!” and the taxi careened around the next corner with a right turn that sent the back of the car skidding.

We were on a narrow, cobblestone street. The car shook so badly going fast over the small, rounded stones that I wondered if it might actually break apart.

We were in the Quarter now. The driver put his hand to his horn again and drove, dangerously fast, through the tourists who scattered in front of us. “If I go to prison for this, will you pay the money to get me out?” he asked. I think he was feeling like the star in a movie car chase. But I was way too worried and too busy thinking to answer him.

Suddenly we slowed down, and the driver started looking up at the sides of the buildings to check the street signs. Then we stopped with a jerk, and I recognized Jacob's corner. The ride had taken twelve minutes—two more minutes than I'd bargained for—but when I saw that the meter said twenty euros, I just threw fifty euros into the front seat, said “Thanks a lot,” and jumped out. I closed the taxi's door softly behind me so that Jacob wouldn't hear me.

There was light in Jacob's windows. Thank God. I'd been sure this was where he'd take Mom and Lucas, and I'd been right.

By this time I had it all planned in my mind. If I got there before the police showed up, I'd get Sister Anneke and Sister Katje to call and make sure the cops were coming, and the nuns and I would go up to Jacob's place together.

I ran to the mission door, turned the handle—and it was locked. The sign on the door said, Return at 7:30 in Dutch and English. It was just after seven o'clock.

I felt desperate. I wanted to cry, but I didn't have time. I looked up and down the street—no police yet. Then I looked at Jacob's building and took a big breath. If somebody was going to rescue Mom and Lucas, it would have to be me.

Three bounds and I was at the bottom of his stairway. I had no idea what I'd do when I got to the top, but I figured I'd think of something. I took another breath and started up.

My tennies didn't make a sound, but it turned out even a little movement made the metal steps grind and clang. I had to creep up to keep them from banging. I knew that as long as he didn't know I was around, Mom and Lucas had a chance. But if he caught me, we'd all be killed.

Jacob's place was five whole stories up, and going slowly enough to be quiet made it seem like my trip up the stairs was taking forever. With every step I wondered if I'd be in time, if Mom and Lucas were still alive. Would it all turn out okay, or would one of them be dead? I prayed as hard as I've ever prayed in my life that they were okay and that I'd think of some way to make sure they stayed that way.

Every landing was right outside a big set of European windows that opened like doors, just like in our hotel room, but they were all padlocked and the panes were painted over on the inside. When I stepped on the third-floor landing, the stairs let out a huge clang. I held my breath, backed up, and stood absolutely still. Then I looked up to see if Jacob would open his windows and look out to see what had made the noise. Nothing happened, and in a few more seconds I went up again, this time leaning most of my weight on the railing at the bad spot.

When I got to the fourth floor, I could hear a man's voice shouting up above. That was a good sign, I thought, because if Jacob was shouting, that meant there was still somebody alive to be shouting at. But by the time I got to the landing between the fourth and fifth floors, I could hear that the shouting was in Dutch, and there weren't any voices shouting back. That's when I started to shake and I could feel the tears sting in my eyes. I told myself I couldn't cry, I had things to do, even if I didn't know yet what they were. It worked. The tears went away.

Only nine steps left. I thought I'd never get to the top. I knew I couldn't make a sound this close to Jacob's windows, so I went super slowly, testing every step for the noise it might make before actually stepping on it. Once I made the mistake of looking down and I got so dizzy at the height that I almost lost my balance and had to lean against the wall.

I got to the last step, then very, very slowly I moved my head until I could just see into the room.

There was Mom, tied to a chair. Her back was to me, and there was a dirty gray cloth tied around her mouth and knotted at the back of her head. The room was like an attic with the ceiling sloping down here and there, big and brightly lit, with easels standing all over it.

Jacob was pacing back and forth on one side, yelling into a cell phone and making big, angry gestures with his free hand. His face was so red he looked ready to explode.

Lucas wasn't anywhere.

I pulled my head back. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might slam right out of my chest. This was when I should have come up with an idea, but I couldn't think. My mind, which had been working so well, screeched to a sudden stop. I stood there a minute, my eyes closed. It was all I could do to take a breath.

I said to myself, very firmly, “Don't panic,” and that stupid little phrase actually helped. At last I could breathe, but I had no idea what to do next. The one thing I'd thought of was to sneak in when Jacob's back was turned and hit him over the head with something, but the windows were tightly closed. Even if I broke one of them and got in, what could I do?

Lucas was gone, but I'd found Mom, and now I couldn't think of any way to save her. I prayed again that God would give me an idea of how to help Mom, and I prayed for Lucas.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, but no idea came. Not one. The nuns weren't around, the police hadn't come, and now God had let me down. I was all alone way up farther than I'd ever wanted to climb, and there was nothing I could do. My eyes filled with tears. I wiped them away and started back down.

Going down was even worse than going up. I had to look at the drop to see where I was going. I made it by leaning on the wall and the railing. My fear of heights added to my terror that something horrible had happened to Lucas already, and something just as bad was about to happen to Mom. I had the feeling there was something simple and logical I should do, but all I could think of was finding another way to get the police to help.

Once down, I went over to the mission. The sign was still there, but I tried the door anyway. Locked. My trip up and down the stairs had seemed to take such a long time, but my watch said it was just 7:10. I looked down the street. There were no pedestrians this far up the Oudezijds Achterburgwal. And this wasn't the kind of neighborhood where there were stores or restaurants where I could find somebody. I ran to the other end of the tiny Achterburgwalsteeg to have a look. No luck there—it was just as empty. No drunken men. No girls. Should I take the time to run down into the busier neighborhood? What if something happened to Mom while I was away?